I Don't Believe You
by Johnnydspiratequeen
Summary: Watson finds himself torn between the person he wants to be and the person he's expected to be. HxW Slash. Based on the song of the same title by P!nk.


**I Don't Believe You **

_(A/N: I bring you a songfic to P!nk's "I Don't Believe You" which makes me cry and just begged for a Shwatsonlock story. I must give you slash warnings and extreme angst with no hurt/comfort warnings. I hope you'll still read it anyway and, if possible, with the song to accompany it.) _

Watson has a warm body in his arms, a body that's beautiful and clinging to him; a body that arches into his touches and moans softly into his lips…a body that is not his wife's. Yet, when Sherlock Holmes twines his fingers through John's short hair and presses heated, adoring kisses to his flesh, nothing could feel better in the world. But it shouldn't. He tells himself this even as he sheathes himself so completely in the other man that he has to lean their foreheads together for support and there's hands everywhere, gripping and caressing and running over his back; and that immense and all-consuming love that broils with the heat of lust in Holmes's dark eyes. And it's all he could ever want.

But won't let himself have.

_I don't mind it… I don't mind at all… _

Holmes wakes up alone again. He has learned not to let it get to him like it did the first time. He doesn't let his eyes cloud with tears like before. Just so long as he knows that Watson will come back to him, will hold him again on some dark night when Mary thinks they are working on a case…he can live with that.

And he would be back. He had told Holmes that Mary would be leaving to visit her friend in the country the following week. Until then he will just have to busy himself with un-absorbing cases and a cocaine nightcap. He rises from the bed and observes his body in the mirror. His fingers trace over his bruised lips and trail down to the fresh red mark on his neck. He sees these brandings as a reminder of Watson's affection, something to treasure on lonely nights when his bedside is cold.

Those nights are the hardest. They are the nights that he knows that his John is warming someone else's bed. But he doesn't love Mary, he loves Holmes.

"He has to…"

He reminds himself of this every time they fight, every time a punch or an angry word is thrown and they end the night with desperate kisses and more bruises to admire in the morning.

_It's like _

_The way we fight, the times I've cried _

_We come to blows and every night _

_The passion's there so it's got to be right…_

_Right? _

Watson helps Mary into the carriage and kisses her goodbye. He watches as the carriage rolls away and finds that he doesn't miss her. Guilt clutches at his heart; guilt for what he is doing to Mary…but more so what he is doing to Holmes. It isn't right to lead him into this, to pull him down to his level just so he can hold him in his arms and feel complete for a few hours.

The fact is, he doesn't deserve to have him. He doesn't deserve to be looked at with such warmth and devotion. He doesn't deserve either of them and he knows he is hurting them both when he is with Holmes and when he is with Mary but still thinking of Holmes. And Lord knows, it breaks his heart to leave him in the morning; to carefully slip from his embrace and hear the quiet sound of loss that escapes his lips.

And he's a doctor for pity's sake! He is an upstanding and vital member of society. He is the kind of person who is expected to have a perfect wife and a perfect house and eventually, perfect children who will also become upstanding and vital members of society. Holmes shouldn't fit in. No matter how much he wants, needs him, he will have to lie 'til his dying day.

In his study, with a tumbler of gin held tightly in his hand, John Watson reaches a decision.

* * *

Holmes is pacing in his study, occasionally stopping to look out the window, expecting to see a hansom pull up at any moment. It never comes and Watson never comes strolling in the way he used to. He worries his bottom lip as he tries to fathom why he hasn't turned up yet. Watson is never late; that part of the military has never left him. Perhaps then…an accident? He stops short in the middle of the room and then shakes his head, chasing away the thought.

Watson was usually the man of action but this time, Holmes just can not be patient. He grabs his coat and runs out the door, turning the collar up against the drizzle from the evening sky. The cold is biting but he is simply too anxious to hail a cab, so he runs to Cavendish Place.

By the time he finally arrives, the rain is pelting down but there is a light on in Watson's study. Maybe Mary didn't leave after all? But Holmes has to be sure and so he knocks on the door. Time passes, a minute or so, and then the door swings open and there stands Watson, looking tired and worse for wear. But he is still Watson and appears to be in good health so Holmes breathes a sigh of relief.

Watson is eyeing him thoughtfully, his eyebrows drawn and Holmes knows he's been drinking. Not enough to be raving, but enough to tell.

"Is she gone?" Holmes asks finally when he doesn't receive a greeting from Watson.

The doctor nods, his eyes leaving Holmes's face and drifting to the floor.

"…John…" Holmes starts, moving towards him, "Is something wrong?"

He shakes his head and Sherlock thinks he can see the glimmer of tears in his downcast eyes. Panicked, he grabs the other man's shoulders and shakes him, pleading with him.

"Watson, what's wrong? Is it me? Did I do some-…"

"NO!" He suddenly shoves Holmes away from him, more forcefully than was necessary, for Holmes trips over the stoop and has to grab hold of the railing. He gapes at Watson, eyes wide and John is fisting one hand in his hair, the other on the door frame and he looks like a man who is cornered and doesn't know what to do.

Holmes tries again, "If you would just let me in, maybe…"

John laughs humorlessly and he looks half mad, "That's all I need, isn't it? I need you in my house, I need you in my life, I need you in my fucking bed!"

The detective, stunned, says nothing and waits for the other man to continue.

"You shouldn't even be here, Holmes."

"But you said she was gone."

"She's my wife, Holmes. My _wife_. I'm married now and look at me. Look at _us_!"

Holmes's insides go cold at the sudden turn of conversation, "But I…things are working out! Unless… don't tell me she knows."

"Of course she doesn't know! If she knew I'd be in jail with you right next to me!"

"At least we'd be together," it was meant to be a quip to lighten the mood but it comes out more seriously than intended and Watson is even more riled than before.

"Holmes…just go home. Don't come around here anymore."

"What…Watson, what are you saying?"

"Just get out of here! I can't…I don't need you in my life! You don't fit!"

Holmes's world lurches and it feels as though the ground has been yanked out from beneath his feet like a rug and his stomach drops. "Watson…" he tries to form more words but it's like he can't breathe.

Watson tries to shut the door on him but he stops it with his hand and with a quivering, constricted voice, he asks, "You don't love me anymore?"

John can't stand to look him in the eye so he swallows the bile in his throat and whispers to the floor, "No."

Then the door is closed and Watson some how winds up on the floor of his sitting room and he's sobbing so hard that he thinks he might be sick.

* * *

Holmes stares blankly at the door before slowly backing down the stairs and staggering onto the sidewalk. He feels as though his insides have just been ripped out of him, save for his heart that has been completely destroyed, its bleeding remains aching in his chest like an open wound.

He can barely distinguish the tears streaming down his face from the rain that's coming down harder than before and the whole time he is shaking his head, refusing to believe it. He vaguely registers the fact that he's wandering down the street until he is forced to stop for the sobs that are wracking his body. He stands there, head bowed into his hand, looking to the world the epitome of agony and yet…he still doesn't believe it.

_No, I don't believe you when you say _

_Don't come around here no more _

_And I won't remind you _

_You said we wouldn't be apart _

_No, I don't believe you when you say _

_You don't need me anymore _

_So don't pretend to _

_Not love me at all… _

_(A/N: Thank you for reading :D Please leave reviews if you liked it!) _


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